


Love Story

by Peril_in_Peace



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Bad Communication, Better Communication, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feelings, Friends to Lovers, M/F Sex, Post-Guardians of the Galaxy (2014), Post-Movie: Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, Relationship Status: It's Complicated, Romance, Sexual Situations, learning to relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-06 06:13:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15880182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peril_in_Peace/pseuds/Peril_in_Peace
Summary: Gamora turned and looked out at the stars. “I can do whatever I want.” She swallowed, resisting the pull of her lips into a quiet frown. “Now.”“What do you want to do?” Peter asked.A certain kind of... relationship... predicated on attraction is one thing. But love... For Gamora, love is hard.





	1. one, two

**Author's Note:**

> So, this story started with a sort-of prompt issued by [@zivitz](https://zivitz.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr... something about _Where's the fic about Gamora's obvious attraction to Peter after he saved her outside of Knowhere in Vol. 1 and then dealing with Mantis spilling the beans about his feels in Vol. 2..._ And I was like... "Dude... I'm on it." 
> 
> And that was like... months ago. And I've actually been working on it for months. Like... really hard. And there have been dry spells... but this beast got away from me a bit, and probably isn't even anything like the original idea anymore. It became my monster master Starmora headcanon fic, inspired in so many ways by the great stories and authors I've read in the last year and a half. 
> 
> But rather than draw it out any longer, I set the goal of being able to post during Starmora week (despite it not really being directly related to any of the prompts... but oh well). So here we go. 
> 
> This is for Zivit. Thanks for the idea... I'm sorry it became kind of its own thing. I think it's still good, though. :)
> 
> And for [enigma731](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigma731/pseuds/enigma731), who keeps me on track and tells me when my ideas are good or stinky, and I really need that, so thank you!

**Today**

She could feel him looking at her. Gamora could hear him gearing up on the other side of the hold, but could _feel_ the glances, and finally shoved aside an errant crate a little too roughly. With a little too loud of an annoyed sigh.

The glances stopped.

Gamora bit her lip, focusing on making sure she had enough plasma clips on her belt and pointedly ignoring him.

Peter let the lid of the rifle locker slam down, and she froze.

“So just… business as usual, then?” he said.

Gamora grabbed another clip and checked the reserve levels.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” she answered, before slipping it beside the others next to her sheathed sword. She didn’t look back at him.

Drax walked in. He eyed them both.

“Rocket able to get us close enough?” Peter asked, thankfully heading off any intrusiveness on Drax’s part. She finally turned, leaning against the bulkhead.

Gamora couldn’t help but check Peter over. She knew… she _knew_ it was time. They needed-- _he_ needed to get back to normal. She knew this. But…

She brutally squashed down the overwhelming ache building in her chest, that it was _too soon_. It was far too soon, and--

 _She_ needed…

 _"You feel love,”_ Mantis had said. And why had Gamora looked up at that, even though she’d _known_ Mantis was holding _Peter’s_ hand? Why had it felt like it was _her_ feelings laid out bare…

“Hey,” Peter said, reaching up and attaching his aero-rig between his shoulder blades. Drax stood ready by the hatch, hand hovering over the control panel.

Peter took a couple steps toward her, face a blend of his focus on preparation and an emotional twisting of regret and concern. “Sorry,” he said, voice low and head turned conspicuously away from Drax. “I shouldn’t have… not right before heading out. Not the time.”

Gamora nodded slightly. “No,” she said. Peter bit the inside of his cheek, clearly hoping she’d said something else. Maybe been more encouraging. But distractions were not--

She held her breath as he moved away and, before she could stop herself, grabbed at his wrist. She caught his sleeve and Peter stopped, but didn’t turn around.

“I--” Gamora started, tightening her fingers.

“I hate these... _things_ ,” Drax complained, wincing as his aero-rig materialized around his torso. He hit the hatch release and atmosphere roared into the small cargo hold.

Peter sighed and reached up to activate his mask with his free hand. “You could _put on a shirt_ , man. I will _buy_ you one…” he said.

Peter turned his head back just enough to regard Gamora’s fingers digging into leather, but didn’t pull his arm away. She squeezed his wrist, then released it, letting him follow Drax to the lip of the open hatch.

Her whole body vibrated with the urge to pull him back.

Drax leapt with a yell, caught on the wind. Peter simply stepped out, like a child hopping down off the front porch step. Gamora stopped thinking, slapped the aero-rig onto her back and took a running jump.

* * *

 

**Four Months Ago**

Back in open space, the first night back on the new _Milano_... after Drax had worked his way down the ladder and Rocket eventually followed, Groot’s pot held protectively against his chest…

...Gamora had stayed.

Eventually, Peter had cast an amused glance back at her. “You don’t need to--”

She smiled and shrugged, jutting her chin at the autopilot controls up on one of the screens. “Neither do you.”

He sighed and sat back. “I want to.” He pushed the throttle forward just a bit as if to prove his point. Gamora’s grin widened and she got up, dropping her hand to his shoulder.

“Are we even headed anywhere?” she asked.

“Got some old contacts on Rajak. Figured it was as good a place as any to start.”

“For a bit of both?”

Peter smiled again, with a soft laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, so maybe I’m a hero… but not quite a _good guy_.”

“Who says that?” Gamora frowned, tightening her fingers.

He snorted, like the answer was completely obvious. “Um… Ravager?”

“Not anymore,” she said, softly. Peter sucked in a quick breath, then went still. He slowly brought his hands away from the controls, resting them in his lap. His fingers clenched into tight fists, then he stretched them out, laying his open hands palm down on his thighs.

“No,” he all but whispered. “Not anymore.”

Gamora brought her hands up, one over the other on top of the headrest, and dropped her chin, watching the stars go by.

“It’s… quieter than I thought it’d be.”

She tilted her head at the softness of Peter’s voice. “What is?”

He shrugged, his fingers starting to fiddle and pull at the loose fabric of his pants. “I dunno… freedom?” Peter sighed, and reached a hand up, awkwardly scratching at his temple. “I never really…”

“...Thought you’d get this far,” she finished, nodding.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Not alive, anyway.” He tried to smile, his voice quivering just a little in an increasingly familiar tone of trying to joke instead of slip into real emotion. “And…” He snorted. “Guess whatever big plans I had, I always figured I’d chicken out… stay. Like Yondu always… _always_ said I would... “ Peter finished quietly, and just stared out the front viewer.

And it was impulse, really. Peter brought his hand away from his head, and Gamora caught it in hers. Brushing his fingers, then grasping them. She moved, rounding the seat to face him, his right hand in hers. She perched herself on the armrest.

“You get it, though,” he said. “Way more than--”

She smiled softly. “It’s not a contest.”

Peter leaned back to look at her, expression relaxing into a sort of muted wonder. “You know… you have a really nice smile. You should do it more.” He held her gaze, his thumb rubbing across the top of her hand. “Smile, I mean.”

She turned and looked out at the stars. “I can do whatever I want.” She swallowed, resisting the pull of her lips into a quiet frown. “Now.”

His thumb stopped.

“What do you want to do?” he asked.

It hit her, with that question, that she hadn’t thought about it. She hadn’t thought she’d get this far either. She’d had a goal, a mission… Get away. Someday. Even then, although she was ready to take it, the opportunity came sooner than she’d imagined. It had come at all, which was far more than she'd dared hope.

 _Escape_ was the goal. It was the end, and even that… had she ever really expected to…

“Not alive, anyway…” she mumbled.

The corner of his mouth quirked into a small, knowing curve, and instead of questioning her odd response, he just followed her gaze out the front viewer.

“So for right now,” he said. “Let’s just not do _anything_. Except… you know… be alive.”

Gamora looked back and saw he was relaxed, eyes closed, free hand behind his head like a pillow. She couldn’t help but smile again.

“You’re an idiot,” she said. Soft, tenderly. As if she was saying something much more kind. Peter snorted and shook his head, eyes still closed.

“You’re the one who said you could do whatever you wanted. And you’re still here. So what’s _that_ say?”

Gamora looked down, gently pulling his hand into her lap and opening his fingers, tracing over them with her own. She felt him open his eyes, watch her… but he didn’t pull away. The little hairs on his arm started to stand up as she grazed his skin with her fingertips, drawing lazy circles around his palm.

He was taking her seriously. Without question or comment. Letting her have a moment of tactile connection. Of being… feeling him being… alive.

Being close to him, his face open to her the way it was… it made her think--

 _“I saw you out there,”_ he’d said. _“I couldn’t let you die.”_

She hadn’t said it, then, lying under him in the Ravager’s hold. But Gamora had thought it. It was the _first thing_ she’d thought.

_“Why not?”_

It was a simple thing. Dying. She’d so taken it for granted, it had surprised her that _he_ hadn’t.

And then, she had felt his heartbeat, pounding against her hands on his chest. And she became aware of her own, pumping hot sensation back out to her tingling limbs. And Gamora had thought for sure that Peter could feel it through his fingertips on her cheek.

She’d almost died many times. Alone. Or in the company of those who would just as soon leave her.

On the grimy floor of that hold on the galleon, Gamora had clutched at Peter’s jacket, his arms on either side of her... and had felt _alive,_ in a way beyond simply existing, that she was sure she’d forgotten forever.

She looked at Peter, still and quiet in the pilot seat of his own ship, swallowed hard and paused. Gamora held his hand between hers, before reaching for his chest. His heartbeat was easy to find, through a thin t-shirt. It was slower, calmer, than she expected, as she laid her hand flat. Peter reached for her wrist and held it lightly, rubbing his thumb over her pulse point.

Gamora leaned over, her weight on his chest, and kissed him.

First slow and quiet, then Peter reached a hand up, gently cupping the back of her head. Gamora let herself slip off of the armrest, pushing into him as he reached around to the small of her back. The curve of her hip.

And then her arm.

And then he was pushing her away.

“What… is happening?” he asked, voice husky with a messy sludge of confusion and the sweaty _need_ all over his face.

Gamora leaned back and smiled. Because he said she should smile more. And maybe he was right.

“What do you want to do?” she asked.

 _She_ wanted to. Gamora realized; thought it through in a matter of seconds, that she’d never been so close to someone… acted on her own attraction for no more reason than simply her own wanting to.

It was… quieter than she thought it would be. It thrilled her; her sudden acute focus on _Gamora_ , so foreign as to be forbidden. And she felt… brave.

Peter’s eyes went wide and he seemed to struggle for something to say, a little groaning “Uh…” the best he could do.

Gamora felt a tug at her dress, where he managed to snag a bit of loose fabric between his fingers. He hesitated. She grinned, and Peter gently pulled her back into a kiss.

And he was good.

It had only ever mattered… _before_ … that _she_ was good enough. Pleasing. To get close. To a mark. An asset; a target.

She hummed, her fingers tracing his hairline as she delved deeper. Peter’s thumb grazed her hip, then grasped, massaging, fingers splayed and digging into her, pulling her nearer. He squirmed a little, either trying to hide or get more comfortable as his arousal stirred just enough against her in his lap for her to feel it.

Gamora smiled against his lips and reached down between them for his belt buckle.

He moaned, deep in his throat. And his fingers were in her hair; a slight pull and pressure with his grip, but also a softness… fingers brushing wisps that almost tickled. And a knot of… something... swelled low in her belly. Another tickle, fluttering, but with a deep ripple that made her almost laugh. She grazed her teeth over Peter’s tongue.

Peter touched her wrist, tentatively, then held it. Stopped her, and pulled back.

Gamora’s fingers fell to his thigh as she searched his face. His eyes were still closed, but he squeezed them shut a little tighter and blew out a slow breath through his barely parted lips. She was sure his grip on her wrist was growing gradually stronger.

“We--” Peter cleared his throat, opening his eyes. “We should--”

“Move?” Gamora supplied. Peter’s face fell, minutely, before he seemed to catch himself.

“Stop. We should stop,” he said, quietly but firm.

She raised an eyebrow. He swallowed hard and ran his tongue over his lips, before pressing them together.

“I--” Peter started. He shook his head, then started again, a little louder. “I’m just gonna...” He let go of her wrist and sighed, letting his head fall back and to the side a bit against the headrest. “I don’t wanna fuck this up.”

Gamora sat back, looked away and pushed herself off of him hastily, back onto the arm rest.

“Don't be--” he started, voice hurried. Almost panicked. “Shit. No, I just--” Peter reached for her and she stopped herself, the thoughtless impulse to exploit the weakness of his extended fingers.

He touched the side of her face, just in front of her ear, like he wanted to brush her hair behind it.

Like he touched her on the hard deck of the _Eclector’s_ hold. She wished for that same expression on his face, now. That… open awe at her actual existence.

But he looked down, away from her, and drew his hand back. And Gamora knew she had failed to hide her disappointment.

“It's just… we’ll both... you know... _be_ here. In the morning. And I…”

Gamora stood up and nodded. And wordlessly hurried down the ladder into the crew quarters.

She heard his whispered “ _fuck”_ and the soft metallic clank of his belt coming undone and wanted to feel a little satisfaction. But as the hatch slammed shut above her, the knot in her gut just grew to an unpleasant pressure.

“Wassat noise?” Rocket grumbled, raising his head groggily from one of the bunks. Gamora rushed past him to her own.

“Go back to sleep,” she hissed, hitting the privacy screen around her bunk. She stood still and silent for a moment before realizing she'd clutched her own breast. She dug her nails into her skin through the thick fabric of her dress and bit her lip.

“Fuck,” she breathed.


	2. me, you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Escalation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was _this close_ to bumping the rating up to Explicit... but I tried to keep things in R territory instead of NC-17. ([Please let me know](https://perilinpeace.tumblr.com/ask) if you think my threshold was off!) **...but this chapter NSFW to be on the safe side.**
> 
> If that wasn't too much of a spoiler... adult situations ahead.

**Today**

It still caught her off-guard, sometimes. The very idea that there was a  _ before _ . 

Gamora watched Peter work, carefully affixing the device to the huge door and manipulating it gently, fingers barely touching it as he seemed to be trying to  _ feel _ for a change in energy or some kind of movement from within the door itself. 

He once likened it to cracking a safe, but then had to try and explain the concept. She still didn’t quite understand it the way she was sure that  _ he _ did. 

But she wondered… about before. There was a time, in the past, when they didn’t know each other. When he’d learned how to do things like feel for locks opening through solid walls, and brawl and steal. 

It shouldn’t be so surprising, given the things  _ she’d  _ learned. Before. 

Gamora tried to push back any further musings, shaking away something bordering on shock… that she had so much trouble thinking about what life was even  _ like _ , before. 

She looked away, leaning on the wall of the vast structure and out on the darkening valley. The planet was barren and had been for centuries; an abandoned Kree outpost on a dead world. There was nothing left to stand watch against, but as the sun set and the air appreciably chilled, Gamora only naturally felt on edge. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Peter drop his hands and reach into his bag, pulling out a thin probe and a plasma lamp. He shook the translucent sphere against his leg and glanced up, nodding her over as it started to glow. 

“Hold this?” 

Gamora gave Drax a pointed look as she stepped over to take it and hold it up for him to see better. Drax moved closer to the steps, turned outward with a watchful eye, just in case. Peter quirked the corner of his lips, a quick thanks, then stuck the handle of the probe in his mouth before gingerly tapping at the lock-picking device. 

She had been worried… that they were taking a job before they were ready. But watching him over the light from the lamp, Gamora could see the steady movements of his fingers, the measured intake of breath, and could tell that Peter was completely in his element. Maybe even as much so at this moment as when he was flying. 

She swallowed back the slight surge of regret for keeping them on the Quadrant for so long, but couldn’t quite hold in a little smile, watching him work. 

“What?” He noticed, little delighted creases at the corners of his eye. 

_ “It’s just some… unspoken thing…” _

Gamora shook her head against the first thought that came to mind. “You’re good at that.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Surprised?” he said around the metal between his front teeth. 

“No--”

Peter looked ready to say something else, but his expression suddenly shifted and he pulled his hands away from the device, his fingers hovering a couple inches above it for a second. He grabbed the probe from his mouth with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, then slowly slipped it into the narrow slot below the device--

Something clicked loudly, then a barely visible crease in the middle of the broad, smooth door panel split a few inches with a thundering crack that shook gravel loose from the steps and terraces carved from the rock of the mountain itself. 

* * *

 

**Three Months Ago**

“I’m not a bad wingman. If… you know… you wanna go see why that guy’s been giving you googly eyes all night.” Gamora smiled to herself as Peter came up behind her then dropped his elbows onto the bar. 

Peter shrugged, tilting his head in the direction of the well-dressed Krylorian at a booth along the far wall. “Not that it’s… well, I mean, it’s kind of obvious…” He smirked and flicked at the fancy glass the colorful beverage the bartender had placed in front of her  _ ‘courtesy of the gentleman…’ _ had come in. 

Gamora rolled her eyes and slid the still-full glass over to him. “You’re welcome to seek his affections yourself, if you’re so interested.” 

Peter glanced at the Krylorian, then back down at the drink with a little smile, turning it with two fingers on the stem of the glass. 

“Nah. Not my type.” He tilted his head up and looked at her, gaze lingering just long enough. 

She swallowed hard and brushed Peter’s fingers as she took the glass, sliding the Krylorian’s fancy drink back toward her and lifting it to her lips in one quick motion. It wasn’t large, but it was strong, burning in the few gulps it took to go down. 

Peter bit his lips together, then straightened, raising his hand to get the bartender’s attention. He snapped his fingers, catching one of the woman’s four eyes, then pointed down at their drinks and gestured for two more. 

He downed the last dregs of his warming beer in a couple of long swallows, and dropped the heavy glass back onto the bar a little too loudly. Peter stared down into the foam still coating the inside as it slid slowly down the curve where the mug narrowed halfway down. 

“You’re not a big talker,” he said, running his middle finger around the rim. “I can respect that. But if you’re…  _ expecting _ something from me… or  _ not _ expecting… or… whatever the fuck…” Peter shook his head. 

Gamora tightened her fingers in her hair, kneading the ridge of her brow into the heel of her hand. Her elbow ground into the bartop. 

She almost winced when he looked at her. Instead, she clenched her jaw, wishing there was still alcohol in her glass or that the damned bartender would hurry up with the next round. 

“Why are you bringing this up?” she asked. Peter smiled. 

“Because you didn’t.” His voice was light, with that air of confidence that she’d come to know was part of his false front.  

The bartender dropped two fresh drinks in front of them. Peter shrugged and glanced at her again, gauging her silence. “It’s been, like… a month… and…” he added quietly. 

Gamora sat up straight, sliding her drink toward her. “I have no expectations whatsoever.” 

Peter didn’t move, save for his eyes dropping slowly from her face down to his own hands; his fingers having stilled their silent drummings over the edge of the bar. 

“Really,” Peter deadpanned. He glanced up. “Because I got the impression--”

“That we are friends?” 

She looked at him pointedly, daring him to tell her different. Gamora felt no need to restate her… slightly bitter  _ “You’re the one who said we should stop…”  _ that first morning after… and see the look on his face. 

Instead, she shrugged and tried to jut her chin with conviction. “You were right. It’s the best thing,” Gamora finished softly. 

Peter narrowed his eyes at her, leaning a little more languidly on the edge of the bar. 

“You really think I meant it like--” He started on the defensive, then sighed, visibly deflating. “Forget it,” he said, slowly. 

He just stood there for a minute, then took a long, slow breath and dragged over the nearest stool, sitting heavily and dropping his weight onto his elbows. 

Then, with great determination, Peter went to work downing his beer as quickly as possible. 

Gamora wanted to match him. But as she watched him through the corner of her eye, the tightening knot in her stomach left her running her finger along the lip of the glass instead of picking it up. She wanted to say something, to say she didn’t mean it, to say she was… 

Not  _ sorry _ . For telling the truth? Was she sorry? 

...Or  _ was  _ it the truth?

She consciously unclenched her jaw and pushed out a breath. She turned on the stool, her back to the bar, and let her eyes wander anywhere but on Peter. 

There were couples dancing. People dancing, far too slowly for the music playing. She knew that much. Swaying close to one another, like even Rocket knew how to do, holding Groot when he couldn’t sleep. 

And she was  _ struck _ , in a blinding instant, with a sensation of utter isolation. As if she sat in a room full of people… but encased in glass. She shivered, squeezed her eyes shut, and opened them again. 

Fighting down the urge to reach for Peter, just to make sure she  _ could _ , Gamora realized it had been  _ days _ since Peter had pestered her to dance. 

She twisted around and reached for her drink, but Peter grabbed it first. Gamora’s eyes widened, first in surprise, then she glared. 

“That’s mine,” she said. 

“I paid for it,” he said simply, then drank it down in two big gulps and dropped the empty glass back onto the bar. It almost tipped, the topheavy chalice shape tilting over the stem between his fingers. 

When he slid off the stool, he wobbled almost as badly as the glass had. 

“Peter--” Gamora warned, reflexively reaching for him. He held up a hand and turned away, straightening and heading for the door. 

She got up and stared at the little whorl of hair poking in odd directions on the back of his head, as if her eyes boring into that singular point would make him turn around. “Where are you  _ going _ ?” 

“Home,” he answered, turning only just enough and barely audible over the din of the room. 

Gamora closed her fists, then stalked after him.

“Wait.” She breathed it out, barely a wisp of air, as he pushed through the door with so much of his weight that she was sure he’d simply fall over when it swung open. 

But his balance was born of such rote practice at drunkenly stumbling from bars, Gamora figured it was probably muscle memory by then. Peter strode toward the docks with more composure than she expected. 

She distantly tried to figure how many times he must have woken up in a gutter, bereft of his belongings, before he’d managed to learn how to hide just how inebriated he was. 

Her own memories of stalking targets stumbling out of establishments like this one; easy, weakened prey… they were all too fresh and clear, and her mouth went dry. Gamora wished she’d snatched that last drink out of Peter’s hand when he’d stolen it, to dim and darken those thoughts just a little bit. 

She wondered why she hadn’t. 

“Peter, stop.”

He did. The rubber tip of his toe almost catching enough on the rough cement walkway to trip him up, but instead he dropped his foot mid-stride, half pivoting to look over his shoulder. 

“What.”

It wasn’t angry, or sad. Just an even, toneless voice that sounded… tired. And it made Gamora…  _ feel _ . Inexplicably… 

She bit the inside of her cheek. “I’m not chasing after you like some idiot.” 

“Then don’t,” he said, and turned around to keep walking. 

Slower. 

She caught up with him and matched his pace. He didn’t look at her and it  _ stung _ . But that wasn’t the… that  _ feeling _ that itched over her skin and made her fingers twitch. 

Gamora took his hand. 

She reached up and held it, and held her breath for the two… three seconds before he closed his fingers around hers. 

And that… _ something feeling _ seemed to circle and purr and lay down in her belly, satisfied for the moment. And Gamora’s face got hot, and the  _ something feeling’s _ satisfaction boiled up in an almost tearful  _ relief _ so strong that she had to vent it out of her in a long shaky breath. 

Gamora didn’t look at him. She willed him not to look at her, didn’t want him to see the flush of dark green in her face as she pushed down whatever...  _ this  _ was. And he didn’t. And he didn’t say a word. 

They put one foot in front of the other, in a mindless, silent rhythm until Gamora was safe again in her own rational brain. 

And with her hand in Peter’s. 

He didn’t speak or move to take his hand away, as he keyed the entry pad at the top of the  _ Milano’s  _ ramp. It took a couple tries. She dared a glance, and watched him close one eye, squinting at the panel, before getting the code right. 

That nobody’d opened the hatch at the annoying screech of the mis-key alarms, meant they were the first ones back. 

They stood alone in front of the galley table in the silent ship, before he finally looked at her. First down at their hands, then at her face. And Gamora could see him arguing with himself; flashes of clarity between blinks of his eyes, when he tried to harden his gaze and remember why he had walked away from her in the first place. 

Then forgetting, like he’d wanted to do. Because... she’d made him want to drown in his beer, and steal her drink… He’d been talking to her and then he wanted to  _ forget  _ talking to her. 

Without thinking, she tightened her grip. 

But Peter finally let go, and Gamora dropped to the bench like his hand had been the only thing holding her up. 

He turned on the little task light over his bunk, then squinted at the stereo, examining the tape. He pressed the fast forward button for a few seconds, then play. The last few strains of  _ The Chain  _ faded as he stood up and stepped back over toward her, took her hands and lifted her from the bench. 

He pulled her hands up to his shoulders and left them there, before settling his around her waist and starting to sway them to the Sam Cooke song he loved so much. 

Gamora looked at her hand on his shoulder and gripped the seams of his jacket until the leather bit into her fingers. She sighed, leaning closer and breathing him in and closing her eyes as she let her hands slip down his biceps just a little. Then all the way, as she hooked them under his arms and around his back. 

“You stopped asking,” she murmured. She immediately wished she hadn’t. There was something about their silence that kept this… not real… that she didn’t want to ruin. So she settled for hoping that he hadn’t heard. 

“You were never gonna say yes,” he said. She felt the rumble of his voice in his chest. She felt his hand shift, his thumb brush her skin at the hem of her shirt. 

“I’m not a dancer,” Gamora said. The words were a habit by now. She didn’t have to look up to see the same little smile he always gave her back. 

“Okay,” Peter said, as they swayed. 

She swallowed hard. “I’m not a lot of things,” she whispered, finally lifting her head back to look at him. Peter’s eyes had been closed. He opened them as she shifted, catching her eyes. He stopped. 

“What do you think you need to be?” he asked. 

Gamora shook her head, then dropped her forehead back to his chest. “I don’t know.” 

She felt his hand disappear from her back, then fingers threading through her hair. A weight holding her, pulling her closer. 

“I don’t know,” she said again, muffled behind his arm and a curtain of her hair. 

“What makes you think anybody  _ else  _ has it figured out?”

Gamora looked up at him, seeing his brows furrowed in genuine confusion. She almost got angry, almost snarled at him that  _ who cares _ about  _ anybody else _ ? She should be different. She should be  _ better _ . She should be better…

But her mouth just gaped a little. 

And when Peter came closer, lips to the corner of her mouth, she leaned into him, parting her lips and inviting him to deepen the kiss. 

And she hated that it was exactly what she wanted. Because she’d spent the last month convincing herself that Peter was right. He’d been  _ so very right _ and it would have been so  _ stupid  _ to slip and let some physical foolishness ruin the best thing either of them had had in a long, long time. 

_ Because they’d both still  _ be here _ in the morning _ , and so would Drax and Rocket and Groot. And there were so,  _ so _ many ways it could…  _ would _ be so terrible. 

But Gamora  _ clutched _ at Peter’s back and kissed him hard and her skin ached to feel his hands all over her. 

_ “What do you want to do?” _ He had asked her. What she  _ wanted _ \--

Gamora dug her nails into his jacket and pulled away, a low growl deep in her throat. “It’s just sex,” she said. Peter’s eyes widened, but just for a second. 

He almost said something, his brow tightening and mouth closing like he was literally biting his tongue. He almost said something she knew she wouldn’t want to hear. But then, Peter slowly, subtly licked his lips. 

“I can… I can do that,” he said, throaty and rough. 

Sex was sex. And then she’d feel better. This… attraction, tactile craving... This buzz through her skin and ache in her gut would be sated, like the  _ something feeling _ calming with the tight grip of Peter’s fingers around hers. 

And so, so needed. She mirrored his motion, as he ran his hand up her back under her shirt, biting her lip at the feel of his fingers splayed out across her back, touching as much of her as he could. 

His other hand worked the snaps down the front of her vest, while she undid his belt. She shrugged out of her vest, one arm at a time, as he finished, keeping the fingers of one hand at work untucking his shirt. 

Peter leaned back and looked at her, tracing fingers down the collar of her shirt…  _ his  _ shirt, that she’d found on the floor and washed (repeatedly) and adopted, having few clothes of her own, at first. The thin white fabric bunched ahead of his fingers as he dragged them down her sternum, between her breasts. 

He ran his thumb lightly over her nipple. Gamora danced her fingers along his skin, scratching her nails across the top of his pelvis. 

“Fuck,” he whispered. Peter gripped her ass, and lifted just a little, wedging her up between him and the edge of the table. Gamora pushed her hands through the opening of his jacket, pushing the sleeves down his arms until it dropped to the floor. 

Peter worked his fingers down, catching the hem of her skirt with his thumb. She lifted her hips, wrapping her ankles around the back of his calves. He grunted, but grinned, shifting one hand to the table top to hold their weight. He ran his hand up her hip, teasing at her panties, and then pulling them down. Gamora let go of him just enough to let him work them over her boots, only to let them fall onto his jacket. 

He turned back to her and nudged her backward, further onto the table. But Gamora pulled at him; pulled around his back under his shoulders. She wanted him close--not hovering over her as she just laid there. 

“No, I want--” she breathed. He tilted his head, and she thought for a second, then glanced at the bulkhead. He followed her look and raised an eyebrow, then pulled his arms around her back and hoisted her up, as Gamora lifted herself to his chest with her legs around his waist. 

Peter’s arms were still around her when he pushed her up against the wall, dulling the cold of the metal bulkhead and crushing her into him as he nuzzled her hair behind her ear with his nose, breathing deep. He kissed her on the neck, just below her earlobe, suckling down to the crook of her neck. 

It was awkward, with her boots still on… but with the leverage of the wall at her back, she pulled her knee up and caught his belt with her heel. He made a sound, like a grunt or a laugh, and shifted to pull one hand from behind her back. He reached between them and loosened his pants some more. 

Peter winced a little as they came down over his hips, and Gamora reluctantly let her hands fall away from his shoulders, reaching one up to grip a cross-brace above her, and the other down, slipping down his front. She pulled gently at his hard cock, lifting him free from his pants as she shimmied them down a little bit more with her heel, and kissed him hard. 

Not quite as gently, Gamora stroked him; guided Peter closer to her. She pulled herself up by the bulkhead’s cross-brace and anchored herself to him with her knees against his hips, drew him into her.

She watched him watch her; watched him bite back a moan instead of words. He closed his eyes and she  _ forced  _ hers to stay open. Gamora wanted to see him. She watched his face as is it fell into a quiet expression that… matched so well with the slow breath he let out, she could only call it…  _ relief _ . 

Her breath caught, then released, with a low growl. She dropped her forehead to his, realizing at the touch that they were both already sweating. 

She clenched around his cock as she pulled her hand away, craving the feel of him--the friction--instead of resisting, as he pushed in dry. He pulled out, then thrust again, slicker, as she responded, the heat building up and webbing out along her nerves like a drug in her veins.  Gamora’s fingers fluttered at his arm, then the back of his neck--the bare, sticky skin--as she found his rhythm, urging him deeper with a heel prodding his ass.

Peter thrust, and Gamora’s head fell back against the wall, mouth open and panting and silent, except for their breaths loud in her ears. He slid his forehead down, burrowing into the space between her ear and shoulder; bracing himself against her as he moved. 

He wasn’t slow or gentle or  _ sweet _ . But insistent and needy and he filled her in and covered her up and held her together. And both of his arms were wrapped around her again, one around her lower back and his other curving up her spine, fingers weaving into her hair at the base of her skull. 

Grounding and tactile and…  _ things _ … she thought she didn’t need. 

“Fuck… ‘Mora…” Peter’s voice was muffled by her shoulder, and she felt a hitch in his rhythm. She gripped the cross-brace harder, almost sure she heard the metal squeal, and tightened her fingers in his hair. 

“Don’t stop,” she ordered. 

She felt his throat rumble weakly; his teeth grazed the skin above her collarbone, then sank in, just enough to hurt. 

“Please, don’t stop,” Gamora begged. 

He hummed into her shoulder, and did as she asked, and Gamora's vision faded around the green points of her own fingertips peeking through his hair and every other nerve was aimed inward, lighting up like a spaceport at sunset.

Then Peter pulled down with the hand bridging the base of her neck as he thrust up hard, holding her still as he settled in deep and lingered there just a little too--

Peter shifted, just slightly. 

When she came, she wanted to move. She wanted to ride him, just a little; throw her head back and bang the bottle and savor the last drop on her tongue.  

He held her. He finally lifted his head from her shoulder and looked her in the eye, watching her come. Peter held her as she twitched around him, lips curved into the barest of smiles, weathering the last few tremors of her orgasm. 

He watched her, and Gamora should have hated it. Should have grown impatient under Peter’s stare. Suspicious. But she held his gaze. She slowly blinked away the buzz in her muscles and took a long, deep breath and smiled lazily. 

He kissed her hard, then lingered just past the reach of her lips. Eyes drinking in her mouth, the curve of her cheekbones, the scars on her brows, before leaning in and breathing deep and nipping at her earlobe. 

Gamora grinned and squirmed, delighted as she felt his cock wake and jerk--and Peter answered her tease with a fast, deep thrust. And, raw from her own high, Gamora felt him move and move, deep and fast. Like when he pushed the engine too hard, making the whole ship thrum and rumble around them. 

She tugged on his hair, and he pulled his head up so she could see him, flushed and panting. Seeing her face only seemed to make him more desperate. Gamora felt his hands drop down her back, one resting, then tightening around her ass. She kept his eyes on her, fingers tightening in Peter’s hair. 

“Jesus…” he breathed. He almost closed his eyes, but she clenched her fist, and they were on her again. “Gamora…  _ fuck _ … I’m... where--”

She relaxed her grip and smoothed down his hair under her fingers. “I want to feel you,” she whispered. He just looked at her for a second, with a shadow of the  _ “are you sure?” _ that she’d seen in his eyes on jobs over and over in the last few weeks. 

Because he trusted her. 

“It’s okay,” she said simply, nodding and pulling him closer. She kissed him, thrusting her tongue through his lips, as if to make her point. 

Gamora tensed around him when he came inside; gripped him. And he held his breath and screwed his eyes shut and his face went red, his forehead dropping against hers. And she thought he was beautiful, so spent because of her. 

She swallowed, running her fingers down the back of Peter’s neck one more time. 

“Thank you,” she said softly. 

He looked at her, his nose just next to hers and lips still so close that he could so easily just--

Peter pulled back, just enough for her to ease her feet back to the floor. His smile was small and quiet as he reached his hand up just behind her ear. 

_ “I saw you out there.”  _ Her memory of Peter whispered. “ _ I couldn’t let you--”  _ And something tightened in Gamora’s chest that made the feel of his hands on her, his body up against hers, holding her up… feel achingly distant even as he’d only just pulled away.

“Yeah,” the Peter in front of her said. He managed to pull together an expression more like his normal self in the time it took to reach down and pick up her panties and his jacket from the floor. The wider, simple look of amused satisfaction he gave her, as he moved toward the cockpit ladder… it almost looked real.


	3. us, them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> moments of reflection

**Six Weeks Ago**

The Sovereign high priestess kept _talking_ and it was all Gamora could do to hold her ground without shifting anxiously from foot to foot, keep herself from brushing her jacket back and thumbing the hilt of her sword none-too obviously.

She was glad Peter was doing the talking. As ready as she was for a fight, Gamora was thinking about Nebula. Too much. She scanned her periphery for signs of travel, guards, prisoner holding.

She caught sight of Groot, at Peter’s feet, and clenched her jaw. Peter was so busy chatting up the priestess, he didn’t even realize Groot was there. If anything happened--

> _“So, I think I found us a job,” Peter started, slower than usual. He plopped down at the center nav station, taking a quick look at their heading, but otherwise didn’t interrupt her turn at the helm._

> _Gamora glanced over her shoulder. He seemed intent on looking anywhere but at her._

> _“What’s wrong with it?” she asked. Peter opened his mouth with a little reflexive head shake, then closed it, leaning back and glancing at her before looking pointedly at the nav screen._

> _He winced. “Well…”_

> _“No stealing, Peter.”_

> _He rolled his eyes. “It’s not--” he sat up straighter, defensive. “That’s not the problem.” He finally looked at her. “Have a_ little _faith in me, Gamora._ Christ _.” Peter scratched uneasily at his temple._

She maintained a neutral expression and slowly blew out a breath through pursed lips. No, Peter wasn’t _obliviously…_ flirting...

Gamora kept her attention on the speaking dignitary as much as she could muster--at least the illusion of it. But glanced at Drax, Rocket… double-checked Groot. Looked over Peter.

His arms were relaxed, but his hands at his sides were mere inches from his weapons. Stance open, outwardly… but feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent. A stable shooting platform. Broadcasting amiability, but… prepared.

> _“Then what’s the problem?” Gamora had turned fully in the seat and leaned over the armrest to face him._

> _“Okay, so… the clients are a little… let’s just say, Yondu steered clear of them, and he would pretty much work for anybody… they’re a little touchy.”_

> _“Good thing…_ diplomacy _… is your specialty,” she said, dryly. “See? I have faith.”_

> _The fact that Peter’s only response was the slightest twitch of a smile that didn’t reach his eyes was concerning. She sighed. “_ _Why do you want to take the job, if you have reservations?”_

> _He swallowed, then got up and softly dropped the hatch, closing them off from the rest of the ship. He sat down on the edge of Rocket’s shortened seat. She watched him earnestly. “Peter?”_

Peter’s stance shifted a little.

“I guess I prefer to make people the old fashioned way,” he said, voice lilting with a cockiness that she couldn’t quite see out of the corner of her eye, but that Gamora knew was there. She sighed and grabbed her left hand with her right. A reflex; fighting down the sudden impulse to grab her sword instead. It felt like it came off casually enough.

“Perhaps someday you could give me a history lesson... in the archaic ways of our ancestors. For… academic purposes,” the woman in the horribly gaudy gold throne replied. Gamora dug a nail into the top of her other hand.  

> _“They have your sister. We do a job for them, and they’ll give us Nebula as the reward.”_

> _Gamora resisted the impulse to nibble at the inside of her cheek, a nervous habit and flagrant tell that had somehow slipped back into her behavior, years after being broken._

> _“I see,” she said, quietly. “The others--”_

> _Peter looked up and shook his head. “They don’t know. I just got off the comm, and I thought… well, I figured you should have the final say on this one.”_

“I would be honored, yes. In the name of research. I think that could be pretty…”

Gamora looked at him before she could stop herself. He looked back, his slinky leer fading.

And for a second, the rest of the room seemed to blur and all she could see was his face; sweat-slick and open and watching her against the backdrop of the darkened ship, and _Brandy_ just starting as she finished--

And her skin felt too tight for her bones and her muscles tingled with an energy that made her want to _run_ or _fight_ or _fuck,_ and it didn’t really matter which one.

“Uh…” Peter stammered, looking away. “Repulsive. I’m not into that kind of casual…”

“Oh, please.” Gamora stepped forward, a fresh focus surging up and crashing over the sourness churning through her chest.

> _He leaned back and studied her for a moment, taking a deep breath when she nodded, but didn’t say anything. “We don’t have to do anything… the Sovereign are the type to… take..._ care _... of things.” He winced a little and shrugged. “We could forget about it… Never think about it again…”_

> _Peter was looking at her as sincerely as he ever had, and she could tell, there was something underneath._ Never think about _her_ again _..._

> _“...If that’s what you want…” he continued. “But--”_

“Your people promised something in exchange for our services. Bring it, and we will gladly be on our way." Gamora stood,  _radiating_ her intention out of her in waves.

And suddenly Nebula was  _there_. And her heart  _stopped_ and there was... nothing to say... 

“Family reunion… yay…” she heard. Gamora almost turned and snarled at him, but all she could see was Nebula.

> _“It should be me,” she said, tightly. “And it should be justice. Real justice, on Xandar, not…” Not just a fading memory left behind to rot by some convenient coincidence…_

> _Gamora swallowed and bit her tongue, before for turning back to the helm controls._

> _“Okay,” he said._

“Do with her as you please.”

Gamora looked down at Nebula, mostly ignoring the Sovereign’s dismissive tone. It didn’t matter. Perhaps she could have found something to say, something to maintain her pride, but the fact was, there were so many other things… so many other words running through her mind, that she couldn’t have picked one if she tried.

So she just reached down and pulled Nebula to her feet, knew she yanked just a little too hard, closed her hand just a little too tightly.

And as anxious as she’d been to get _here_ , since her gut had started flipping when Peter’d first mentioned Nebula’s name… all she wanted now, was to get back to the ship and Xandar and just be… _done_.

“What is _your_ heritage, Mr. Quill?”

She already had Nebula almost through the yawning, grand entrance to the High Priestess’ audience hall. It wasn’t so much the Sovereign’s words, that stopped her cold… but Peter’s hesitation.

He was so... open. Far too friendly and trusting and _likeable_ , and it was a curse and a blessing. Always trying to keep the peace, maintain contacts, be… diplomatic…

“My mother is from Earth.” It was as simple an answer as she’d ever heard him give.

"And your father?”

Gamora swallowed. He’d only spoken about the question of his father once, since Xandar, and the whole thing involved a lot of alcohol and--

He tried to run through it, as if through a minefield; lighting up his humor like his rocket boots to just… skip over the danger. “He ain’t from Missouri…”

Gamora could hear the forced smile fizzle out. His voiced sounded stronger than his expression warranted.

“That’s all I know.”

“...I see it within you. An unorthodox genealogy. A hybrid that seems particularly… _reckless_.”

Gamora swallowed down a choking lump and blinked away a thought of Peter's face flaking, cracking apart in a blinding purple light; fingertips alight with blue flame, inches from her own--

He’d been turning to follow, on his way out. And she could see the set of his jaw, how the little wrinkles Peter’s eyes deepened; how his hand clenched, knuckles brushing the seam of his coat.

“You know,” said Rocket. “They told me you people were conceited douchebags. But that isn’t true at all.”

The collective gasp of the room was palpable with tension. Gamora forced down the ugly laugh that tried to bubble out and thought, perhaps this was the most affection she’d ever felt for the little maniac.

“Ah, shit. I’m using my wrong eye again, aren’t I?" Rocket sneered. "I’m sorry. That was meant to be behind your back.”

Drax grabbed Rocket by the scruff of his neck, pulling him away from the growing animosity in the room. But Gamora watched Peter, her hand tightening on Nebula’s arm until her sister tried to yank herself away.

She held her breath until he turned and followed after Drax, still having said nothing.

He said nothing, all the way back to the ship. He walked behind them, letting Rocket and Drax share the lead. Groot scampered after them, extending vines from his fingers and latching onto the strap of Rocket’s bag to pull himself onto his shoulder.

* * *

 “I think… they have something to do with my empathic abilities,” Mantis clarified, as Peter’s triumph at “beating” Drax died down.  

“What are those?” Gamora asked.

“If I touch someone, I can feel their feelings.”

Peter frowned. “You read minds?”

Gamora’s chest tightened and her first thought went immediately to her… siblings, tendrils of thought like fingers, pushing into her mind and _taking_ things out at any hint of suspicion. The back of her head tingled, like she was being watched… but she knew… she _knew_ it wasn’t possible. And Peter glanced at her, a question in his look. Something panicky and feral inside her calmed, and she smiled.

> _“They’ll be back soon. We should get up,” she finally said._

> _His breath was warm against the back of her neck, sticky with drying sweat, tickling through the hair falling out of the messy knot on top of her head._

> _“We have time… is it so wrong to just…” He trailed off, his fingers tracing a light trail over her bare arm. She could feel his heartbeat at her back. The pulse of it felt almost louder than his voice, and the something soft and hesitant in how he spoke made her throat tighten._

> _“It’s not like this is anything more than… what it is,” Gamora said quietly, finally, letting Peter’s touch jump from her arm to the curve of her breast. He opened his hand. The trigger callus on his index finger caught on the ridges of her ribs as he skimmed down over the dip of her abdomen to her pelvis, resting on her hip._

> _“No… well, okay… but… I can’t have some…” he shrugged halfheartedly. “Appreciation?”_

“No.” Mantis answered, her voice airy and light and so very different from... “Telepaths know thoughts. Empaths feel feelings. Emotions.”

Mantis turned to Peter, reaching toward him; something to prove. “May I?”

“Alright...” He moved his water to his other hand, resting his right on his knee. Mantis touched his hand, her antennae lighting up. Her face lit up too, like some epiphany had suddenly dawned on her.

> _Gamora smiled wanly, lids lowering to barely veil her instinctive eye roll. She dropped her hand back between them, her fingertips flirting over the light fabric of his boxers, taunting until she felt him twitch, then stiffen. Peter blew out a slow breath next to her ear._

> _“You don’t think you’ve made your point?” she countered. His hand tightened, fingers burying themselves into her skin in a rough, deep caress._

> _She could feel him smile, his lips soft against the curve of her shoulder._

> _“Fair,” he said. “But… there’s other things, too.”_

> _Peter’s voice was too even. Too steady and sincere a response to her blatant, purposeful tease. She sucked in a breath through her teeth, bringing her hand back up, twisting her wrist to hook around his arm._

> _Her fingers drew down to the top of his hand, finding the little blue vein that ran from his wrist, branching down over his knuckles._

> _Gamora wondered_ how _sincere, as she worked her fingers between his. Wondered if he really_ was _or… if he was just falling back on old habits… feeding her a line..._

> _She waited. He took a deep breath and let it out._

> _Stalling. Gamora closed her eyes and almost shook her head. She’d known better than to get her hopes up, but she was disappointed. She really was. She rolled her forehead on the pillow and inched ever slightly away from him._

“You feel… love,” her face showed it, looking at him with an expression that reflected something… so familiar, it made Gamora’s stomach flip.

“Yeah,” Peter nodded, a quick, lingering motion. “I guess, yeah. I feel a general, unselfish love for just about everybody.”

“No! Romantic… sexual love.” Mantis insisted.

“No… No, I don’t.” Peter shook his head. Gamora could see his fingers tighten, knuckles whiter around his cup.

> _“I like it when you sneeze.”_

> _Gamora frowned and lifted her head. “What?”_

> _She felt his hand flex, fingers tap, telegraphed through his whole arm. “It… it’s cute,” Peter said._

> _Her eyes narrowed. “I do not sneeze.” Peter huffed a quiet laugh._

> _“I thought you’d say that… but yeah, you do. Whenever Rocket gets wet. It’s like this… sneezy-cough that’s really quiet... and your eyes squint shut and it’s_ hilarious _\--”_

> _He snorted and she tensed. Peter seemed to catch himself, and cleared his throat._

> _“--Ly adorable. Hilariously adorable.”_

> _Gamora sighed and looked down at Peter’s hand on her hip, her own resting on top of it._

> _“And… the way you bob your head to a song if you like it. I… um…”_

> _She turned, rolling over. Gamora watched him, certain he would change his mind… say nothing more. But, he swallowed hard; brushed a stray few hairs behind her ear._

> _“...I... really love that,” he finished, his voice low and scratchy._

“For her!” Mantis pointed.

At Gamora.

Peter protested, pulling back. Flustered. More now than he’d even been when she’d first made sure to catch his attention on Xandar. And Gamora felt caught, pulled by a shaky, irrational fear, the look on Peter’s face making her insides shudder like the very ground she was standing on was breaking apart…

And on her other side, a lurking, queasy sense of… _violation_ tugged at her, joined by a sudden urge to take Mantis’ pointing finger and snap it.

Peter looked at her, and beneath the apology in his eyes, was… something _else…_ that made her duck her head away and want to _hide_ and let Drax’s laughter drown out all the thoughts crowding her head.

The skin of her chest _burned_ , itched where the fabric of her shirt scratched at her skin under her vest like each fiber was a razor blade.

She held her breath, willed her heartbeat to slow, then let it out, taking a slow slip of her water. Gamora knew on the outside, she was fine. She looked fine. Normal. But she _felt_ this dull  _ache_ of adrenaline like she’d just barely escaped a fight with her life.

The prickling ran through her and settled deep in her chest, as she watched Peter through her hair. Watched him retreat; a minute series of actions, shielding himself with his arms in front of him, legs closer together, knees, elbows and arms forming a bulwark.

But not a weapon.  

His retorts were feeble. His denials weak. His counters… ad hominem aspersions against Drax rather than any real refutation…

Peter just took it, let it all hit his shield without fighting back.

And Gamora knew it was true.

And realized, when he glanced at her again… that it was something she had already known.

* * *

 

**Today**

“There should be more than one level…” Peter mused, gesturing for the lamp back with one hand as he hefted a worn, old metal pistol in a low grip with his other. It was lighter than his usual blasters, but unbalanced in comparison, and his stance was different from what she was used to. Tilted away from her, and favoring his single shooting hand.

Gamora nodded, handed over the glowing sphere, and snapped the yellow chemstick on her belt before letting it hang so she could have both hands free.

“Armory should be below us,” she said, looking around as her eyes adjusted.

“See any lifts or stairs?” Peter squinted, holding up the lamp, and Gamora followed his eyes to the far wall. A Drax-shaped shadow felt along the smooth stone.

“Here,” Drax said, low voice echoing. The feedback gave Gamora an idea of just how large the room was ahead of them, and she tried to make out how deep it ran. “There’s an opening in the wall. The air feels cooler.”

Peter raised an eyebrow, looking at her. “Worth a look?” Gamora nodded and made her way over to Drax, the outline of the passageway he’d found taking shape in the pale glow of the light at her belt. The bright white of Peter’s lamp lit it further, but showed nothing inside. Just more darkness.

Gamora grabbed another chemstick from Drax’s belt and snapped it, letting it brighten for a second, before tossing it through the dark doorway. It hit a wall a few meters ahead of them, then dropped, rolled, and disappeared down a flight of stairs, the little crack of hard plastic against stone growing fainter and slower as the light faded.

Peter grinned at her. “ _Definitely_ worth a look.”

Gamora’s whole face warmed, and she smiled back. Easily. At the way the joy sort of… seeped around the features of his face, around his eyes. He seemed to brighten even more, then bit his lips together, pushing past her and through the opening, lighting up the dark passage.

He brought his hand up, halfway to his naked ear, before dropping it back down again.

“Can’t really see the bottom,” he said. “Good sign.”  

“Maybe,” Gamora hummed, joining him at the top of the stairs. “Let’s just… be careful.”

A light shone behind them without warning, and Peter and Gamora turned around, covering their eyes with their hands. Peter growled lowly, squinting away. “Drax!”

“It’s dark.” Drax replied, stepping past them and aiming the flashlight down the stairs.

Gamora glared. “ _Obviously--”_

“You stopped listening while I was _talking_ again, didn’t you?” Peter demanded. Drax continued down the stairs.

The flashlight blinked out. Drax banged it against the heel of his other hand, and Peter rushed forward and grabbed it.

“It’s not gonna work, man.” He glared, and shoved it into his pack. “You’re lucky the contacts didn’t short, and fry your hand.”

Drax pointed at Gamora accusingly. “ _She_ works. I don’t see why the flashlight would be any different.”

Gamora rolled her eyes. “I don’t _have batteries_ , idiot.” Gamora snapped another chemstick and shoved it into Drax’s free hand before pushing him forward by the arm. “You think this is the only place in the galaxy where electronics get messed up? Thanos is a psychopath,” she sighed. “Not stupid. It takes more than some rocks in a mountain to shut me down."

She caught Peter’s eye. He winked at her, and Gamora couldn’t help but smile ba--

His face swam in front of her, a wavy mirage that hung in the darkness even as she blinked heavily, bringing her hand to her face. Her fingers came away moist, but she couldn’t see with what. She could taste grit in the air.

Gamora didn’t remember his plasma lamp going out. The chemstick that had been on her belt was gone. She turned her head, hissing as her shoulder popped. A yellow glow lit up a small patch of gravelly floor and reflected off the shiny metal of Peter’s gun.


	4. i, we

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Resolutions.

**Last Night**

“Why is this so hard for you?”

Gamora stopped at the _sound_ of his voice. He spoke softly, like he didn’t want her to hear.

She turned slowly. He was sitting on the far edge of the big bed, stretching his shoulders. Facing away from her, a silhouette in the dim room, she wasn’t sure he’d said anything at all.

“What?” she breathed, eyes narrowing as she leaned against the bulkhead, crossing her arms.

Peter sighed, dropping his hands to his knees. “Nevermind.” He stood up and grabbed the old blue sweatshirt of his that he’d found among Yondu’s things from the pile of clothes that had built up on a chair by the viewport.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Gamora said. Peter snorted, pulling the sweatshirt on.

“You never do.”

Gamora drummed her fingers at the seam of her tank top and, despite wanting to sink deeper into the bulkhead behind her, she pushed away from it.

“Maybe I should make more use of my own room for a while,” she said. In her head, it had more bite than what came out… the actual sound too tired and breathy to carry any venom.

“Maybe that’s a good idea,” Peter said, coming to a stop in front of her with his arms crossed so that his hands disappeared into his sweatshirt. He looked too small.

She nodded once and turned toward the door.

“I’m not trying to be a dick.”

Gamora stopped, sighed. Her mind flashed through all the possible expressions on his face. She decided not to turn around. She heard him sit down, the old metal bed frame creaking.

“I just…” He paused, his baggy clothes shuffling. She turned, and he sat… defensive and protected; his elbows on his knees, arms up and hands folded under his chin. Gamora dropped her eyes to the floor.

“Why’d you even…” Peter shook his head. Shrugged and took a deep breath. “I guess I thought…” He looked at her, his eyes pulling hers up, even against her will. Like she owed him at least that.

“I _hoped_ … things would be _different…_ after…” He waved his hand. “But…”

_“It’s just some… unspoken thing…”_

Gamora swallowed hard, pushing away the thought of his tear-stained eyes and the way her words had made him look like he’d had _something_ to crawl through all that horror on Ego for, after all.

“I’m not…” she hesitated, grasping for the right words. She sighed. “ _Trying_ to be a dick, either, Peter… I just…”

Peter shook his head. “No, I know. It’s um… it’s all been a lot. The last few weeks, right?” He took a deep breath. “It’s only been a few weeks, and… you know… maybe some time wouldn’t be so bad.” He nodded to himself, looking down at his hands.

“Both of us… you know? Take some time and figure out what I… what _we_ … I dunno… _want_. Outta this.”

Gamora’s throat closed. All she could do was nod, as she turned and pushed open the door.

* * *

 

**Five Months Ago**

Peter looked at her, turned his head away from Ronan rising back up from taking that hit, his eyes so _wide…_ and Gamora knew they were going to die.

She barely felt it when she hit the ground, the hard angles of the steps behind her digging into her back and arms. Barely heard Drax’s roar as he ran at Ronan…

The thought flickered through Gamora’s mind, that it might offer at least some satisfaction to draw her sword and join him. Perhaps draw some of the Accuser’s blood to take with her.

The M-ship crashing through the hull, before she had a chance, was almost a disappointment.

So her world narrowed. Without Ronan in front of her, she found Drax. Pulled him from under the wreckage. Brought him to Groot…

Gamora hadn’t lied. If she was going to die--

She shivered, a cold chill falling over her as she tried not to think of the vast _nothing…_ the frozen silence of hard vacuum, the icy sting that still lingered in her joints.

She wondered, watching Peter gingerly carry Rocket, if he still would have saved her… risked his own life for her… if he’d known she was just going to die anyway, the very next day.

She was glad he did. The thought, now… of dying alone…

Gamora looked at Peter, catching his eye. He looked… scared. She wished she could take it away. Give him some of her relative peace… that this was better. So much better than it could have been.

She heard it before she saw it. The quiet curling of vines. She glanced at Peter, his face reflecting her confusion as he cradled Rocket. But it wasn’t a lack of understanding, exactly… He scooted closer to her on his knees and looked at her, sucking in a breath, then looked at Groot, face falling.

Gamora swallowed hard, as she figured it out, Groot’s vines hardening around her, circling around Drax and pulling him closer to them. Wrapping them up. It seemed so slow and so fast at the same time, and Gamora just wanted to shout at everything to _stop_ . To just stop, give her a chance to _think_ and come up with a new plan. _Something_ …

But her voice didn’t work. It was all she could do just to keep breathing. Because that was what she _did_. She kept herself breathing.

She wrapped her fingers around the vines bundling around her waist like a seat harness, and imagined herself holding Groot’s hand. And came as close to crying as she could remember.

Rocket woke up. Squirmed away from Peter, and climbed up to Groot. She couldn’t look at his face. She watched Peter and he watched her back. To someone else, his expression might look like amazement.

But she’d seen amazement on his face, when he pulled her alive out of space. And this wasn’t that. Nor was it the fear she’d seen moments ago. It was something, Gamora decided, like wondering _why_. Why anyone would go so far for him...

Because she could recognize it in herself.

“No, Groot. You can’t. You’ll die.” Rocket’s voice broke. “Why are you doing this? Why?”

“ _We_ are Groot.”

Gamora was sure she heard _“I love you.”_ Her chest clenched, as her stomach dropped. _“All of you.”_

* * *

 

**Today**

“Peter?” Gamora tried to yell, but it came out croaked. She coughed, hacking as she tried to sit up. She fumbled for another chemstick, pulling it from her belt and snapping it against the stone floor with one hand. She squinted as it started to glow a dull yellow.

She heard the shuffle of boots, sharp little rocks scraping and crumbling against the ground. “Peter?”

“Shhh…” she heard. He moved closer, and Gamora could make him out in the dark now.

“Yeah. Yeah…” Peter whispered loudly, assuringly. He crouched in front of her, immediately putting his hand to her head to see it better. The wet spot… it was at her hairline. Of course it was blood.

His own hands were bloody, the red looking black in the light of the chemstick. They were scraped, his jacket and pants were covered with dust. His hair didn’t seem to be the right color--it was hard to tell. Gamora squeezed her eyes shut as her vision started to blur a little.

“Hey,” Peter said, helping her sit up a little more. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

She frowned, grabbing his arm. “What happened?” Peter shook his head.

“Some kind of collapse?” He looked around, as if the dark… room… around them could offer up answers. “I don’t know if it was some kind of old trap, or just shit construction… but one second, everything’s fine, and the next, the stairs are gone.”

Gamora’s eyes darted over Peter’s shoulder, her grip on his arm tightening. “Where’s Drax?”

“No, it’s _okay_. He’s fine.” Peter smiled, moving out of his crouch and sitting with her. “You don’t remember?”

She shook her head. He eyed her hairline and ran his thumb softly over the matted hair under what had become a bright _throb_ . “You grabbed him. Pulled him up before… well, before the rest came down under _us_ …”

Gamora tried to work out the logistics of the scene, but her head hurt too much for it to make sense. Peter snorted. “Don’t hurt yourself.” He grinned. His smile softened and he looked away, when she didn’t match his lightheartedness at the situation.

“You sort of... dove after him. Hit the stairs hard, and almost went over completely. I grabbed your legs… Drax got out because… well, because between the two of you, you’re strong as hell… but--”

“We fell,” she said slowly.

“Yeah.” He tapped the booster on his boot. “Managed to slow us down a little, before the starter blew out. Helped a bit.”

He looked her over one more time, waited, as if to make sure everything was sinking in okay. “Just gotta sit tight. Rocket couldn’t land too close, ‘cause of the rocks… No big deal. Just a little hike for Drax to get to the _Milano_ and back. Opening’s right up there…” He pointed, but Gamora couldn’t see anything. “Just some rope… problem solved.”

Gamora nodded, hesitantly, and looked behind her for something to sit against. Peter maneuvered around and brushed away the tiny stones in her path and she slid to lean on the wall.

“Thank you,” she said softly. Peter smiled a little, and turned to sit next to her, stretching his legs out with a quiet grunt.

“Yeah,” he said.

She dropped her head to his shoulder. He stiffened a little, and she almost pulled away. But then he took her hand. For the longest time, she just sat there and let the sound of his breathing, and the feel of his pulse in his fingertips almost lull her to sleep.

“I miss you,” Gamora finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I haven’t gone anywhere,” Peter murmured.

“You will.”

She felt his head turn, his nose brushing the hair at her forehead.

“No,” he said, in a warm breath. “No, I won’t.”

She swallowed hard, forcing down a hot pressure in her throat.

“I--” he started. His head straightened, and his ear fell to the top of her head. “Is this about last night?”

Gamora couldn’t say anything back, her jaw clenched.

“Gamora…”

“How long?” she asked, quietly.

“How long what?”

“Since you’ve had… _feelings_. For me.”

Gamora looked down at their hands, tightening her fingers.

“Honestly?” he shrugged, just a little, her ear rubbing against his collar. “Probably the first time you kicked me in the face.” He seemed to laugh a little, a quick breath puffing out his chest. “I mean, that was hot as fu--”

Gamora rolled her eyes and flicked his knee. “Not _those_ … feelings. I’m talking about…” She took a deep breath and realized that he’d gone still beside her. Gamora closed her eyes, suddenly acutely aware of the warmth of his hand in hers.

“I know what you’re talking about,” he interrupted, voice even, but soft.

 _“You feel love_ , _”_ Mantis had said, leaving Peter looking like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

She pulled her head up and _looked_ at him. Peter’s was already turned, eyes taking her in, tracing her jawline before meeting her eyes for just a second, then disappearing. He looked away.

“I’m not sure,” he finally answered. “Not exactly.”

Gamora frowned. “What do you mean, you aren’t sure?”

“Well--” His mouth gaped helplessly. He slowly, carefully pulled his hand away.  His fingers started tapping at his thighs, eyes searching the darkness above them. Peter scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t know… how do you know what you don’t know?”

Gamora tilted her head, eyes rolling. Her forehead throbbed.

“Don’t-- I’m serious! You’re asking me these questions, like I’m some kind of expert, and I’m not, okay?” His forehead crinkled and his eyes got small, like they did when he was in physical pain, and Gamora had to force herself to not look away.

“All I know,” he continued, “Is that one day, we’re strangers and, you know… really not starting things off on the right foot, by the way… and the next… Rocket’s telling me to leave you floating out there and… and I couldn’t.” Peter bit his bottom lip so hard it turned white around the edges of his teeth. “I just couldn’t and I didn’t even know why--”

Peter smiled a little, suddenly, and finally looked at her again.

“The way you said my name… when you woke up after the airlock cycle. It wasn’t… angry… or scared, or desperate… you almost died, and you were really weirdly _calm…_ ” he shook his head and smiled at her.

“The way you said ‘ _Quill’..._ was like... maybe it could be _‘Peter_ ’ someday… like, all the time... and it… I remember having this insane feeling like that was the only thing I’d ever really want again. Was to hear you call me _‘Peter_ ’ like that...”

“Like what?” she asked softly. He ducked his head and shrugged.

“Like… you trusted me. Or even… _wanted_ me around...” He ran his hand through his hair and laughed a little sadly. “You know, less than an hour before, you pretty aggressively threatened to kill me during what was... a pretty nice moment, rather than let me get close to you, and then… I mean…”

Peter sighed, smiling to himself. “So fucking fast… like all the best parts of getting into a fight… and then it’s like I’m standing there, coming down, and realizing…” he shook his head and just looked at her.

Gamora offered a tiny smile as Peter sat back, crossing his own arms and nudging her shoulder with his. She sighed and nestled herself down against the rock wall to rest her head on his arm.

 _“You feel love,”_ Mantis had said. And Gamora had shied away from it. Let Peter take it on his own, like she’d abandoned him to an ambush--

“When I was a little girl… I used to love these old… romantic stories… it was so silly…” She said softly. She ran her hand over the top of Peter’s until she could dip her fingers between his, locking them together and running her fingertips over the tough pads at the top of his palm. “These old… sentimental fables… But I _learned_ ... In real life… In _my_ life, there’s no _‘and their story did not end, but they remained together in joy.”_

Gamora felt Peter take a deep breath. “And they lived happily ever after.” He tightened his fingers around hers. “We had something like that on earth, too. I don’t know if I ever believed it… but… my mom did.”

Gamora swallowed. She wanted to ask why. Why a woman who was left so alone would still--

“She’d read me stories sometimes, and I’d call her on those shitty endings,” Peter said. “Dad left _you_ , grandma left pops… I’d tell her that. And _now_ …” He stopped.

Peter just breathed and held her hand, tight and stiff. Gamora lifted her head and looked at him. His eyes were closed, but rimmed with just a touch of red, and her face fell.

“It was a relief, in a way,” she whispered, returning her head slowly to his shoulder. “Realizing that… love was something I would never have. I was almost grateful to Thanos, for teaching me that.” She swallowed hard.

“You asked me… why this was so... _hard_ for me…” Gamora clenched her jaw and took a deep breath through her teeth. “Even though I was so young, I somehow had this… _understanding_ that… I would be spared a great pain someday…”

Gamora’s face grew hot as she felt Peter’s chin on the top of her head.

“She’d always answer the same way,” Peter said, finally. “When I’d be my irritating little asshole self and make a big deal about that sappy love stuff being all gross and fake… My mom would smile and say, ‘It’s better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all.”

Gamora looked down at their hands, still held together. “That’s… a very nice idea… but… I don’t know that I agree with her,” she said.

A long, silent minute passed, and Gamora thought maybe she’d managed to say exactly the wrong thing… going up against his mother’s wisdom. But--

“Me neither,” Peter sighed. Quietly. Almost in defeat.

Gamora’s chest actually hurt a little, to hear him say it, and her hand tightened reflexively.

“You’re surprised?” he asked, looking down at their hands. At the taut stretch of her skin over her knuckles.

She swallowed down the ball of pressure building in her throat and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to will the heavy moisture gathering on her lashes to simply evaporate. She couldn’t answer yet. Gamora refused to answer until she could do so without betraying herself--

“Hey…” Peter said. _So softly_ . He turned to look at her and she wanted to get up and _run_. But instead, she forced her eyes open, and let the tears fall. And felt his free hand come up to her face, fingers lightly brushing into her hair in front of her ear.

Like she remembered feeling, vaguely and darkly, asking what happened after being pulled from the cold of space in the hold of the _Eclector_ . And she _could_ have fought him away, but she could see--she could _see_ , so plainly on that open, hopeful face--that he was just so glad she was _alive_ and didn’t want to let her go…

And she trusted him.

And even now, already, her chest could burst with the _pain_ of it. To be _tied_ to another person like this…

Gamora dragged in a breath and gripped Peter’s arm, clenching her teeth as her own voice in her head chided her. _Thanos was right._

Finally, she released the sob that had been building… that she’d been fighting down. It startled her; the sound of her own crying so distant a memory she didn’t even recognize it.

Gamora felt like a stranger inside herself; felt a pang of jealousy aimed at this other woman clutching at Peter, before she nearly stopped breathing entirely at the deep warmth of his closeness building around her. The pounding of his heart, his breath on her neck.

“I--” she could barely get the single sound out, but at the feel of his fingers tightening around her back, she sniffed and pushed the words out. “Peter, _I_ love you. _I_ do. You should _have_ that. You need to _know_ that, okay?” Gamora leaned back and looked at him, taking his face in her hands.

It broke her heart, to think of _Peter_ , who was so like her underneath, but _not like her at all_ . Who had this heart that was meant to be so full… It was okay for her. To have never loved... But to hear _Peter_ say that it was okay for him… that maybe it was _better_ …

It was a small thing, her brain told her. But this small thing… this _keystone_ , so casually popped out of place… the rest of her trembled, ready to crumble down. Without caring _when_ or why or how she’d built herself up on something so--

It didn’t matter. She just needed it _back_ . That something steady, and warm and _right_ about Peter being exactly who she thought he was, who she needed him to be. Gamora needed…

“I love you,” she said again, forceful and deliberate. “Now you say it.”

He looked at her, with an expression of awed confusion. Like he was wondering if he was even awake. Then he blew out a breath, slowly. Centered.

“Gamora, I love you,” Peter said, voice thick and breaking.

She smiled and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, so that’s it, then. Doesn’t matter if… if…” Gamora closed her eyes and shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. It’s too late, anyway. Can’t take it back.”

With all seriousness, he tilted his head and quirked an eyebrow. “We’re doomed, you know,” Peter said.

A tickle bubbled in Gamora’s throat, and as her mouth hung open, a wet mix of tearful laughter sputtered out. Peter snorted a quick, watery chuckle, and wiped at her damp cheekbone with his thumb.

Gamora thought of her father. Not her father. She thought of her planet, her mother.  She thought of Ego. Yondu. His mother. She tried to picture Peter as a child as young as she was when her old life ended and she started… existing.

Gamora had been on borrowed time since… they both had, hadn’t they? She realized it, suddenly. Peter had, too… been a creature existing for something other than living his own life… They’d both been condemned to claw and scrape for even the _illusion_ of deciding their own fates since the days their “fathers” killed their mothers.

“We always were.” Gamora smiled with residual laughter and shrugged, then reached her hand up behind his head, threading her fingers through the scruff of Peter’s hair.

She pulled him into a kiss, closing her eyes and tightening her fingers as it deepened. One of them moaned, too soft to hear, but her lips vibrated, and she needily pushed her tongue past his teeth, grazing, savoring the sensation as he resisted just enough.

Peter pulled away, flushed and open like she’d never seen him before. And Gamora--

She smiled to herself, shaking her head dismissively at Peter’s confused look. She had this... insane feeling like that was the only thing she’d ever really want again.

“If we were… are doomed anyway,” she whispered. “Stay with me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'll be posting all four chapters during Starmora week 2018, so stay tuned. :)


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